


Meanwhile, at the Center of Terra

by Mimca



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Kingdom Hearts III Speculation, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 14:22:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17081963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimca/pseuds/Mimca
Summary: Back in a world foreign to the night, Terra had said: "when I really need you, Ven, I know you’ll be there." And he was. Ventus had found his way, through the invisible connection that tethered all Hearts together, and had reached for him with this stranger’s hand.





	Meanwhile, at the Center of Terra

In spite of the sun, Terra’s limbs felt full of rain.

It was always sunny in the Dwarf Woodlands, just as Terra remembered them; a mute light washing over the grass. It was nothing but his reminiscence, after all. Since his Heart had been cast away, he had devised a way to measure time by the numbers he crossed each world. And at the edges of his own memories, the world ceased to exist. Once left, the world would forget he had ever been there.

Sometimes, he would end up in the Land of Departure–the night before Aqua and his’ fateful examination, trails of the meteor shower marring the night sky’s canvas. Some other times, he would end up in a room he did not know, facing a round table. Knowing full well those were not his memories, Terra would linger there longer than he should, sitting in the one ever-warm seat and listening to the tranquil tick-tock of the pendulum clock, just to cherish the delusion of passing time.

Most of the times, he would end up Nowhere-At-All.

It was the thirteenth time. In the crossroads, Terra wondered the purpose of it all. Those worlds were nothing but a grim reminder of what had been lost, because of him But they were also a reminder of what could be saved. As long as there was this hope, this one light on the dusky horizon, he would move towards it.

Towards _them_ –

“–hear me?”

At first, Terra was not even sure he had really heard anything–it felt so long ago he had spoken to anyone, and he had let his thoughts wander all over the place, fishes in a pond, talking about the sea without ever seeing it; he thought it was just another cruel trick his mind played on him.

“Can you hear me?”

However, he had not known about illusions being _stubborn_.

“Who’s talking?”

“… So you are aware,” said the voice. It felt familiar, somehow, like long sleepless nights, the shuffling of slippers on soaped linoleum and shivering stars on the back of the eyelids. “I was just _starting_ –” but the accent itself was harsh, like the whip of winter wind on bare skin– “to fear that you would have lost yourself.”

“That I would… lose myself?” The voice hummed as if it was an explanation in and of itself. “Do I even know you?”

“Not formally,” he answered with the same even tone. “I’ve been looking out for you, though. On behalf of… A common friend, I suppose.”

“A friend?”

“It’s been a while, but… He was looking for someone ‘dressed like him?’”

_Ventus_.

The mere thought of him made that long-forgotten light burn up again. Back in a world foreign to the night, Terra had said– _when I really need you, Ven, I know you’ll be there_. And he was. Ventus had found his way, through the invisible connection that tethered all Hearts together, and had reached for him with this stranger’s hand.

A phantom arm brushed against where his pauldron should have been. Something in the Waking Realm must have moved as well, too, for the voice pursued:

“I see that you’re remembering. Good.” There was the slightest hint of juvenile _pride_ as he said those words. That, too, reminded Terra of Ventus. “You’ll need your own memories back to be complete. Now, do you remember your name?”

“Terra.”

“‘Terra,’ he says.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“… I wouldn’t know.”

His Aid, as Terra dubbed him, turned out to be the textbook definition of a pragmatic. He did not give Terra false hope: his Body had likely developed its own memories during Xehanort’s influence. And that was a concern if his Body were not to be _damaged_ –the Keyblade wielder could not help but wince at the last choice of words–in the battle to come. The only solace Terra could find was in the way the voice whipped all the same when the name of his old Master was brought up.

Fortunately, it seemed that a smaller part of his Heart had found its way inside his discarded Armor, which allowed for contact– _once it could be found_ , the voice added bitterly. As a last resort, his Aid believed that it could be used as his new Body, but he still missed one essential part of himself to be complete: his memories.

“But I haven’t _lost_ my memories,” Terra insisted.

“I’m more concerned about the memories you’ve claimed,” his Aid cleared up with that usual _isn’t-it-obvious_ disdain. “I suggest we do a synthesis of what you remember of your journey and compare the data with historical truth.”

“Maybe I’ll find your heart on the way,” Terra muttered, without any hope to be listened to.

But as he retold his journey, Terra did feel a shift into his memories. In a sharp turn into

_(the fourteenth)_

the Land of Departure, he could smell the overgrown moss hanging below his feet, hear the snap of wooden blades against one another, the laughter. The star that fell into his hand, one of its five branches he held in-between his fingers towards the infinity like a compass. Phantoms of a life breathed into those worlds. He felt like, what was the word again? A hero. As he was meant to be.

In spite of one shadow nagging in the back of the brain.

“You never told me who you were,” Terra dropped.

“As I _told_ you, we’ve never met,” refused his Aid–just a bit too hastily. “This information will not help you recover your memory in any way–”

“Why can’t you tell me?” Terra bit. “If we’ve never met, then it would be unimportant– Then– Is that because you’re you part of his memories?!”

There was no answer.

Terra started cursing himself. To doubt his Aid was to doubt Ventus himself. And doubt was the root of the Darkness that still dwelled inside of his Heart, jumping like a cornered dog. And now, now this sudden silence that had been his coat for the last hundreds seemed stronger, throttling his own voice, his only means of existence in the Waking Realm–

But then, in that soft whisper that came with the shuffling and the goodnights: “I am.”

And another spiel of nothing.

The Keyblade wielder did not know what to think. His anger was still here, rumbling, waiting to pounce at the mouth. And yet, Terra did not remember it consciously, but he felt it nonetheless–a feeling of guilt, of fatalism.

_(in that world foreign to the night, a fragmented part of Xehanort had lived. Had haunted some bright-lie laboratory. Had nested smaller hands into his with this innate firmness, and, like a street magician, pulling a silver coin from behind your ear, had turned those whispers into cries of hope. How could he have known what Xehanort really was? He had been_ dressed like _him.)_

“I trusted him,” his Aid broke through as if he had followed the same trail down memory lane, “the same way you trust ‘me’. We all did.”

“I can relate,” Terra said encouragingly–he was in the best position to know that Xehanort was a master manipulator.

“You’re right, though. It’s only fair I give you my name–It’s Ienzo.”

On Terra’s tongue the name sounded foreign, almost _wrong_ –and for that reason alone, he repeated it again, to make it his own. “Ienzo. I can’t remember what Xehanort–” he swallowed back a rise of disgust– “what he did, but… Thank you for looking out for me–the real me.”

“You’ll thank me,” Ienzo bounced back with his usual coolness, “when you’ll be complete. Try to be cooperative, now.”

_Business as usual_ , Terra thought, and this time a laugh escaped his lips. He hoped Ienzo could hear it through the link of his Armor–it would do him some good. After the battle against Xehanort would be over, and the Keyblade wielder did plan to see the end of it, they would both need more sunny days like those.


End file.
